Fool's Gold
by kawaiiswag40
Summary: The jock, the goth, a tenuous friends-with-benefits situation. Smutty, sentimental Clyde x Henrietta.


_A/N: Hi y'all. So this is basically mostly a sex scene. I'm not even sorry. :P_

_I'm not sure how I feel about it though, so thoughts would be appreciated. _

_Enjoy, ya pervs. _

Clyde was impatient. As usual. He itched to make an excuse, hop in his extremely-used Honda manual-drive piece-of-shit and drive home. Anybody else noticing the South Park High School football quarterback surrounded by his football-jock friends, a few cheerleaders, and several choice popular-kid hangers-on would assume Clyde was exactly where he wanted to be. Normally, they should be right. Nobody could have guessed Clyde was dying to escape to the bedroom of South Park High's resident Queen of Darkness, also known as Henrietta Biggle, also known as the sexiest creature Clyde had ever laid eyes on.

It wasn't anything serious between them, of course. And it certainly wasn't a thing anybody else knew about. They both had too much to lose. Henrietta's friends would never take definition-of-conformist-poser Clyde seriously, and Clyde knew his friends thought Henrietta and all her friends were freaks. Yet somehow, that didn't really seem to matter to either of them.

Annie hung on to his arm with the territorial instinct of a wild animal, laughing at every comment he made whether it was funny or not. He knew she desperately wanted him to ask her to the rapidly approaching Fall Ball.

"Clyde, dude, are you ready for Friday's game?"

He snapped back to reality. Friday, two days from now: the big game against their rival Stonegate High _and _the fall dance. He forced an arrogant laugh.

"The question is whether _they're _ready."

He was met with laughing, and Annie squeezed his arm.

"You're coming out to the barn after the game, right?" asked Red. The barn, AKA where they usually all drank after games. Agreeing would be a formal commitment to that stupid fucking dance, and with Annie hanging on his every word and tendon, it would likely be a commitment to her.

It wouldn't be an issue at all, except that Henrietta had a poetry reading in Denver that same night. If he left from the game directly, with a shower and change of clothes, he could just make it. But that put the dance and the drunken shenanigans of his friends out of the question. It wasn't that she expected him to go. Rather the opposite. So why did he feel compelled to go?

"Probably," Clyde said, shrugging.

"Don't pussy out us, fuck-head."

"Whatever, Kevin," he responded with a smirk. "Everyone knows the best parties are private."

The conversation was an annoying buzz in his ears. He eyed his car just a few yards away, not far from where his friends Craig and Tweek were sneaking off, probably to go smoke. Craig was always good at getting people to fuck off and leave him alone.

Faking a text message from his mom calling him home, Clyde finally escaped.

Henrietta's room smelled like incense, tobacco, and coffee. It was strangely intoxicating. The radio softly played a slow, sad song.

She sat on her bed leaning against the wall, reading a vintage copy of _Wuthering Heights. _He knew it was her guilty pleasure that she wouldn't be caught dead with outside the walls of her bedroom.

"Hey," he greeted, dropping his backpack on her floor. "How're you doing?"

She sighed deeply, still staring at the book, hardly registering his presence.

"Whatever souls are made from, his and mine are the same," she said. "And Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."

Clyde unbuttoned the varsity jacket he wore every day and left it by his backpack. Henrietta was already half-undressed, wearing only a pair of black panties and a _Joy Division _tee-shirt. He could see the subtle, enticing peak of her nipples underneath the cotton.

He sat on the edge of her bed, just far enough not to be touching her. He watched her idly reading, black hair hanging around her face, heavily lined eyes unmoving. She wasn't the skinniest girl in school by any means, but that was kind of what he liked about her. It was part of what made her. Her curves were captivating.

She continued reading out loud and Clyde placed his hand on her shin, slowly moving up toward her thigh, rubbing circles with his thumb.

"I want to cheat my uncomfortable conscious, and be convinced that Heathcliff has no notion of these things. He has not, has he? He does not know what being in love is?"

He was inches away from her now. He reached out and took the book from her, placing it carefully on the floor. The radio changed, the singer's voice low and aggressive but slow.

He leaned forward, pressing his hungry lips to hers.

She responded in kind, wrapping her arms around body. In mere minutes, Clyde's jeans were off, and her shirt was gone.

Clyde pressed insistent kisses to her jawline, down to her collarbone, sucking a vulnerable patch of skin into his mouth while she teased his waistline, running her fingers just under his boxers, then against his belly button, up his abs, and back down.

He let go, growled against her neck, sick of the teasing. She laughed- a rare, strange sound that Clyde happened to love, and pulled his shirt up. Clyde happily acquiesced, throwing it on the floor.

She stared at his body with hungry eyes. Clyde smirked; he knew he looked pretty good. Years of football and fall training had ensured as much.

They were lying on her bed, Henrietta's head against the foot of the bed, Clyde hovering lazily over her. He ran his hand over her hip, down her thigh, hooking his hand into her knee and pulling it up towards his body, granting him better access to her hips.

Clyde broke away from her lips and looked down at her body, groaning. Rare color stained her cheeks. Her intricate Cthulhu tattoo stretched across one thigh.

Pressing his aching crotch against her, he flicked his tongue against the peak of her nipple, palming the other.

She arched her back into him, the heat of his breath on her body melting her nerves. Henrietta smiled at him, messy hair and flushed face, loving the feeling of skin-on-skin contact between them.

Clyde reached his hand down and rubbed her, dipped underneath her underwear after a few minutes.

Clyde peppered kisses down her stomach and waist, one hand lazily teasing her entrance. He slowed down at her underwear-line, leaving hickeys on the delicate skin of her waist-line.

"God, Cl- Clyde..."

He pulled his lips an inch away from her skin, and looked up at her with a smile.

"Yes?"

She smiled back, saying nothing. Clyde pulled her lacy black panties down and off, tossing them next to his shirt and pants.

She smelled incredible. Every time. Clyde pressed slow, teasing kisses to her inner thigh, working closer and closer to her core, enjoying the needy breathing of his victim.

He ran his tongue up her slit, then inside, barely penetrating it, ignoring her clit for the moment. When she was properly wet and begging, he moved an inch upwards, slowly circling her. Following the tempo of her breath, and the fingers gripping his hair, he circled faster and sucked gently at her.

The heat, the wetness, was all too much for her. She gasped, eyes pressed closed. Clyde held her hips down on the mattress, pressing his intense attack forward. She could feel the insistent heat pooling, pulling low in her stomach, and a minute later she came with shaking gasps.

Clyde leaned backwards afterwards, enjoying the sight of her on the bed, disheveled and undone at his hands. Or rather, mouth.

She regained her breath, though her cheeks were still flushed.

"Stop looking so smug," she said. "It's your turn."

Clyde was suddenly pressed on his back, and she straddled his hips. She leaned forward, and before Clyde could fully appreciate the sight of her breasts this afforded him, a pair of handcuffs clicked around his wrists.

He smirked, and yanked at the unforgiving bonds. "This again?"

"You didn't seem to mind the last few times," she said with a matching smirk.

"Guess that's true."

He was cut off by a searing kiss. Her lips consumed his, sucked his tongue in, needy, insatiable. She pulled away slowly, never quite leaving his lips while palming him through his boxers. He suddenly missed the times she'd kissed him still tasting of his seed. She reached underneath the hem and wrapping her hand around him, moving her hand with the lazy confidence of experience.

She scooted back towards his hips, pulling his boxers off, and resuming contact. Clyde stared, helpless, watching her slow hand job. She leaned forward, licking his base up to his tip, circling the head, sucking the first inch of him into her mouth, circling again. Clyde groaned at her unpredictable, frustrating rhythm- the kind she knew he loved to hate. She suddenly took his entire length into her mouth, relaxing into a gentle rhythm up and down his member. Just as Clyde was panting, she broke away.

She couldn't take it anymore.

She stood, rifling through her nightstand for a condom. She looked back at Clyde's helpless form, still tied to her bed.

"You know how much I'd love to just, like, leave you there?" she asked.

Clyde was staring with lust-clouded eyes.

"Tie you up here and leave you forever."

She rolled it over him, and held his member against her tight, wet entrance. Straddling him again, she took his length into her body, reveling at the feeling. She pumped up and down, enjoying her own sensations mirrored in Clyde's face.

Several minutes later, she could feel him coming close. She leaned forward, kissing and sucking his neck, unraveling the last remaining strands of Clyde's brain. He came with a moan and a heavenly expression on his face.

She undid the handcuffs and Clyde rolled off his condom into a tissue, throwing it away.

They laid in the afterglow for several minutes side by side, until she turned sideways to hug his body into her, laying her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist. Both were still naked.

"Yeah," Clyde sighed. "I've been waiting way too long for that."

She laughed. "Then stop waiting, dumb ass. I'm always here." She paused, and he could practically feel her thinking. "Although I guess you'll be busy this weekend with Annie."

"I guess so," he said, sighing. "I know I should want to. Keep up my image, or whatever. Annie doesn't need to know I'm being shared if I don't promise her anything."

He turned to look at her, guilt and uncertainty in his eyes, ready for her judgement and hurt. Henrietta gave him none; she knew she was a side-girl. That was the agreement they had set up so long ago. It was just sex.

"But I don't," he said. "I couldn't give less of a shit. I want to hear your poetry. You never share it with me."

She paused for a long minute, saying nothing.

"I want to show you something," she said. She rolled off the bed, pulled on his boxers, and crossed to her closet. She pulled out a short black dress complete with lacy bodice and see-through shoulders.

"I bought this two weeks ago," she said. "If we leave right after my thing, we can catch the last hour and a half of the dance, and you can see your friends. I can disappear, so they don't have to know."

She finally looked at him, face ablaze, eyes quickly averted.

"I mean, if you want to, or whatever."

Clyde sat up on the bed, and a grin stretched across his face. God she was beautiful. He walked to Henrietta, kissed her once.

"I'd love to."


End file.
